


Requiem: Son of the Land

by brightephemera



Series: Leif Surana [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Gen, Loghain&Warden mention, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition Quest - Here Lies the Abyss, canon-compliant character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightephemera/pseuds/brightephemera
Summary: [ON HIATUS] Loghain Mac Tir has made the final sacrifice. It remains for his Commander to put her world back together.
Series: Leif Surana [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954573
Kudos: 2





	1. Demand an Accounting

Leif burned the road. A lifetime ago she had driven a horse to the verge of death to cut off an army. Now she knew she was already too late.

But she rode.

The Frostback Mountains held no charms for her. The stern rows of white and grey mountains excited nothing but impatience. She raced along the winding road, slowing only enough to get the occasional confirmation from wagons she passed. This was the way to Skyhold. This was where the rot had taken root.

The gate to the gleaming castle was open. She dismounted and fixed a guard with her eyes. “Where is the Inquisitor?”

He reacted to her as though she had authority. Authority could sometimes do that. “She is hearing petitioners in the Great Hall, ma’am.”

“See that my horse is fed.” She took the pristine steps two at a time and pushed her way through crowds of froofy fools into the long, high hall that must be where Inquisitor Isten spent her carefree days.

“Ma’am? Ma’am. Ma’am, you can’t just—” Leif shoved the announcer aside and stormed down the long green carpet toward the elf on her throne.

“You,” she boomed. “You knew Loghain Mac Tir.”

Inquisitor Isten straightened. She was beautiful. Leif hated it. “Warden-Commander Surana, I presume. Be welcome to Skyhold.”

Leif planted her feet and let her pain root her. There was so much, so much that needed screaming. “Where is your Western Approach, Inquisitor? Where are my general’s remains? Exactly how much did you leave out of your letter? When do I bring my friend’s body home?”

“He met his end facing a demon in the Fade. There was nothing for me to bury, or return to you.” Istel’s voice was silvery and soft, though it carried. Like a snake. “He gave his life in service to the Inquisition. The price he paid saved the Wardens from themselves. And brought us one step closer to victory over Corypheus.”

“And you couldn’t have paid someone to do that instead?”

“Only he would’ve gotten his act together in the Fade so quickly.” The speaker was a bare-chested dwarf. “He was the man of the hour.”

“Not yours. Never yours.” Had this inconvenienced these smug loungers at all? “Who else died in the Fade? Who did you spend alongside him?”

“He saved every one of us,” said Isten. “And he apologized for his insubordination.”

Of course he had. “Not good enough! He wasn’t a tool for the Inquisition, he was the sole man in four hundred years to stab an archdemon in the face! He bled for you! And you _left_ him! Who did he die to save? You? You? Do you think you were worth it?”

The hall was silent. Leif could just throw her head back and scream and no one would stop her. She thought about it.

Into the silence, between dwarf and Inquisitor, someone in black and red glided.

“Leif,” said the apparition.

“Morrigan.” Loghain had mentioned her in his final report. It was strange, passing strange, to see her now, perhaps as much older as Leif was herself. “My friend.” Leif’s voice failed and came back quieter. “Were you not satisfied?”

“He was prepared to sacrifice his life ten years ago. You and I stopped him. But could we stop him to keep him forever?” Morrigan looked her straight in the eye, her yellow eyes intent as those of a huntress. “He gave his life among his brethren, in service to a cause. There is no more fitting end for a warrior.”

As if Leif hadn’t told herself that a thousand times on the way. She and Loghain worked by planning together and executing wherever they were needed, knowing that sooner or later an arrow or a claw would overtake their best intentions. She just didn’t think she would be on the helpless side of that calculation. Just because he was older. Just because he had seen his country to peace, the one thing he’d really wanted. Just because people thought he still had something to pay. Just because she was the face of the Fereldan Grey Wardens, and he was only its best mind. Professionally speaking, the correct thing had happened. Leif practically felt her jaw creaking when she forced it from its grinding. “Did he meet his son?”

“Yes.”

“Will I, before this is done?”

“If you wish.”

Leif swallowed. Her anger felt bruised and pointless. Maybe he’d had everything he needed. Maybe, in the end, that was outside her reach. “I’d like that,” she said.

The hall was silent. Leif didn’t change that. She faced Isten and bowed stiffly, then turned away.

“Warden-Commander.” Isten’s voice was like silver chimes. “I mourn your loss, and hope that a greater good may come of it. In consideration, I offer you a boon. Name what you will that is within my power, and you shall have it.”

Leif turned her head in profile. “I need to think about this,” she said. “Perhaps we will meet again.” When she was calmer. When the Order was whole. No, that would be never. “Until then, my place is at Amaranthine.”

She trudged out to meet Morrigan in private. No child could be bright enough to lighten her heart. But something of Loghain must live in the little one, and maybe that was all she could hope for Skyhold to provide.


	2. The Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leif gets the chance to meet Loghain's son, Kieran, with Morrigan.

Morrigan had promised that Leif could see Loghain's son, and she was as good as her word.

“He is playing in the garden. I don’t have to call right away.”

Leif nodded. Kieran, no last name. Kieran, never to be a Mac Tir nor a teyrn, nor anything in Leif’s world. Because she had no illusions: this would be her last dealing with the boy.

The garden inside Skyhold’s walls was small and paltry. Leif immediately saw the young boy in a dun vest, crouching, digging at something. No. Burying something.

Black hair and a slim build, that was just from either parent. Sharp features, more ruddy than she would have expected. And, when he looked up knowingly at some invisible thing to the side, pale blue eyes.

“Does he know?” breathed Leif.

“He is an innocent. I promised Loghain the boy would not so much as hear his name.”

Leif swallowed. “I understand. I don’t…this is enough. It’s enough.” Leif hugged herself. “I need to go.”

Morrigan cast her a sideways look. “You can still be happy.”

“What?”

“Remember that. Because he knew it, even in the moment. Of that I am sure.”

Not Kieran. “He never thought he was involved in me being happy.”

Morrigan smiled. “He had his blind spots.”

“I didn’t think you had such a rosy opinion of him.”

“He gave a life. For no other reason than that we asked him to.” Then, more softly, “Twice.”

“You have something to show for it.” Leif turned away. “I’ve stayed too long.”

“Clear paths to you, Leif. And happiness betide.”

She sighed. “Goodbye, Morrigan. I’m glad you…I would have gotten a lot more upset at the Inquisitor.”

“‘Tis true. Still, here we are.”

“Good luck with everything. Good luck with him. I hope you’re both happy.”

“Goodbye, Leif.”

Leif turned away. She had to ride home, alone.


	3. The Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ON HIATUS] The royals extend an invitation to Leif for dinner in Denerim. Alistair tries to deal with the preparations and greetings.

> _To Warden-Commander Leif Surana:_
> 
> _You are invited to an afternoon’s meeting with Her Majesty Queen Anora and His Majesty King Alistair Theirin at the royal palace in Denerim. No combat is anticipated._
> 
> _Warm regards,_
> 
> _Alistair / Anora_

Leif’s hands shook as she read. One woman’s father was another man’s hated persecutor. Alistair probably still blamed Loghain for Duncan’s death at Ostagar. How was she to sate Anora’s curiosity without triggering Alistair’s hate? And why would he cosign on an invitation to the same?

Maybe he would go play with the dogs for the day. That would do everyone some good. Leif took up her quill. It was time to tear open the moment of discovery again. She owed the Queen that much.

*

For the first time, Alistair summoned the Warden-Commander of Ferelden to Denerim. He specified that he didn’t expect any combat. That seemed like the kind of thing he would want to get ahead of.

Leif sent back five words: It would be my honor.

On the agreed-upon day, all of Alistair’s clothes itched. All of them. He changed into three progressively darker outfits before Anora found him. _She_ looked put together in deeply embroidered mourning. She knew what she was doing.

“She’s been sighted, you had better pick something. Don’t worry about the scabbards, we promised to keep it peaceful.”

Duncan ran through. “Who is it, Mum?”

“A very old friend,” said Anora, patting the boy’s golden hair. “Come, I think you should meet her.”

Alistair pulled the half-discarded shirt back on and hurried.

*

The sunlight over Denerim made gold out of the city’s browns. The road to the palace was wide and curving and Leif the legend sat with stiff formality on her comically large mare to approach. She dismounted where the groom met her and came to the doorstep where Alistair and Anora framed their son.

She wore quietly rich clothing, mostly velvet and beads in dark colors. The softness of her cheeks was gone, the yellow richness of her hair muted to dusty straw. Alistair looked for the fire of her younger days and did not see it. Leif Surana looked like she had been through a war.

She bowed practically double. “Your Majesty. Your Majesty.”

“Warden-Commander,” said Alistair, summoning her from the past.

“Warden-Commander,” echoed Anora. “This is the Crown Prince Duncan. Duncan, this is Commander Surana.”

Leif went to one knee and bowed. An elf in that position was shorter than Duncan himself, and the boy seemed to like that.

“It must be a fine thing to be a prince,” she said solemnly. “I’ve never been one.”

“Of course not,” said Duncan. “You’re a girl.”

“But I am a Warden-Commander.”

“Do you command all the Grey Wardens?”

“The ones in Ferelden, not counting your royal father. We watch your doorstep for you.”

He turned an alarmed glance behind him. “Is that where darkspawn come out?”

“Not anymore, my prince. Not while I draw breath. And not while your Warden father sits the throne.” She stood, looking a little more lively. “I didn’t mean to take him from his lessons.”

“Run to your tutor,” Anora said, urging Duncan back.

“I don’t usually throw children at my visitors,” said Alistair, “it just seemed like…well. You hadn’t had the chance to meet him.”

“You could have come with my father on one of his visits,” said Anora.

Leif looked uncomfortable. “I stayed where I was needed.”

And Anora rolled on, never one to allow an awkward silence. “I trust the road here was not too difficult.”

Leif’s eyes hid things. “You keep your roads in good order.”

“I should hope so for what we’re paying,” Alistair said, too brightly. “Come in, refresh yourself. I’ve arranged everything I remember you liking.”

“Some of which I don’t believe,” Anora said with indulgent, almost maternal humor. “Bacon-wrapped apple slices?”

“Really?” For two seconds Leif’s eyes widened and her smile was genuine. She caught herself. “Ahem. That sounds nice, Majesty.”

“Got you,” said Alistair, cracking a grin. So she wasn’t just the legend. “Over here, please.”

*

A servant led his guest to a room and Alistair sat with Anora at a square table in a brightly lit side room. Then he stood. Then he sat.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said.

Anora reached to touch his arm. “You are the oldest friend left in her life. She may respond to kindness.”

“She hates me. She thinks I’m the coward who abandoned the fight at the last threshold.”

“Do you think she pretended to like a small child for my sake?”

“She was always good with children. I always thought she was going to adopt some just as soon as the Blight was over. Warden-Commander-Mom Leif Surana.”

Leif appeared in immaculate quilted black with a silver gryphon pin at her collar. That dull yellow ponytail could have been tied once ten years ago and left untouched. “Everything is arranged so thoughtfully here,” she said to Anora. “Your doing, Majesty, I suspect, except for the marble-rolling puzzle in the other room.”

“That was nine-tenth’s Duncan’s doing,” Alistair said proudly. “I just help with some of the structures, my hands are bigger.”

“I hope you haven’t let any of your dogs eat the marbles.”

“I did apologize to Fareth. He seemed all right with me after. Is he, still…?”

“He’s old, but he’s comfortable.”

“Good. I hated to leave him.”

She didn’t follow that up with blame. Good.

King and Queen sat at the head of the long table, with Leif at their collective right hand. And they spoke, of Ferelden, of Wardens, of the land’s borders and the Order’s lands. The women were trying to minimize Loghain and Alistair had a feeling they thought they were doing it undetected. Well, it made things easier. He understood Anora better than she thought he did. He knew that even at the worst, even when denouncing him in Leif’s favor, she loved her father. He had no personal experience with such a parental relationship. The only thing she loved more was Ferelden.

Once they were talking Leif didn’t seem so changed. Proud, incisive, happy to share credit and uncompromising in taking blame. She brought up an old in-joke as if unsure how he would react, and he turned it back at her. If the road between Denerim and Amaranthine had been cut, that felt like the first bridge.

Gently, over time, there were others.


End file.
